


Silence in the Wagon

by whatsanapocalae



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beards (Facial Hair), Bondage, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Facials, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Magic, Size Difference, Sweet/Hot, Wizards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 13:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12842373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsanapocalae/pseuds/whatsanapocalae
Summary: wanted to write some porn and it ended up being between my human fighter and his gnome wizard boyfriend. And I decided to use the most flowery beautiful prose I could muster. Basically, Middodar is a big top and Corvid teaches him the ways of being a bottom, which Middodar finds out he loves a whole lot.





	Silence in the Wagon

Middodar’s hands were not thin, nor were they elegant, they were broad and callused and damaged, bent in the wrong ways. They were hands that had seen use, had seen pain, had seen toil, and were not going to stop anytime soon. There had been a time in which those hands would blister on the wood of the axe, in which they would bleed from the strikes, but now they were too hard for that, too used to the worst of himself. 

They were soft enough, when cradling the face of a lover, elegant in their own way, as they traveled across flat plains, warm and caring, when they set down the axe, to pick up more creative tools. 

His back was a broad map of scars, the size expanding to continents. It was a target, too large to conceal. To many nights he had come to bed with weeping rivers, new paths paved in red, made from the flashing of swords. Other nights the new topography was only temporary, from the long nails of the one beneath him.   
His face. His face was not the kind that could be forgotten easily. It was a kindly face, decorated with fur and a line of silver oar that crossed it. When they had met, his hair had been long, but then it was short, and now it was growing long again, this time with streams of white. His eyes were the kind that crinkled and he laughed so loud and often that they did so often. Only one shown in the light and the other was slower, more cautious, even in its blindness. At night, if he were comfortable, or planning to make some joke, he would remove the old glass thing but a patch would mar him further than an empty socket would. 

And his lips were the least forgettable, ticklish with their surrounding bristles, smiles brightening the pinkness of them, as they kissed trails along arms and necks.   
There were, as with all warriors of a certain age, ugly parts to him, but Corvid kissed them as reverently as the rest. The inside of one knee, where a dagger dripping poison had sliced through the tendons, was a mass of scars that had forced a knot to form. There were days in which it ached and hurt and he could hardly walk on it, and Corvid would sit on the back of his thigh and run his fingers over it, hands heated with magic, until the knee was detangled and he was making soft murmuring sounds. In his hip was a deep cleft which gave him a feminine figure in the right garb. It was odd, seeing him turn in the mirror, look at one side and then the next, admiring both in different ways. It gave him little pain though and its texture was different, smooth and hairless.

Middodar was, of all the lovers Corvid had had over the years, the most caring. Many would and had, been terribly considerate, overly considerate, of Corvid’s stature. Middodar was careful of it and, at first, Corvid had worried that Middodar would be like the rest, asking if he was alright at every other move, knitting their brows while sliding their fingers inside of him, as if that alone would be too much for his much smaller body to handle. But Middodar had only asked a few times and, once they were comfortable with one another, only inquired if Corvid seemed uncomfortable in some way. 

And then there had been one night, just after they had gotten a wagon of their own and some privacy from the recruits, that they had tried something new. It was nothing new to Corvid, who had been with his share of suitors, humans, orcs, and halflings, even one of those elusive catfolks, but Middodar had only experimented rarely and, due to his size and presence, was always assumed to lead in sexual encounters. It was Corvid who had offered it and Middodar had only skirted around the idea until the first digit was deeply pressed inside of him. 

Oh, how his back had arched and a sluice of sounds had fallen from his lips, gems dribbling down into the thick bristles of his snow capped beard. His hips were jutted forward, his angle angelic, begging for further exploration. Corvid had tasted the delicacies of his inner thighs, the tensing of his abdominals, and the shape of his form, his tongue flitting like the bird of a wing over each inch he could find for himself. He dared not touch the member before him, which lay flat and heavy over Middodar’s hip, red and dribbling as much as his lips. 

Corvid’s fingers prodded and massaged, working their way in with praise, oil, and gasps. He saw the sweat on Middodar’s brow, the whiteness of the knuckles that he gagged himself with. The camp was not full, but there were more there than would be preferred, and they did not want to hear the sounds that Corvid longed so badly to hear. He stretched and wriggled, his fingers making more space than necessary, the smell of the oil damp and lingering in the air. 

He wished that he could kiss his lover, in that moment, four of his fingers nestled so deep inside of him. Neither of them were young and there was not enough flexibility between the two of them for such an act. He instead kissed the red and glistening head of Middodar’s erection, looking up at the man as his precoma slicked his lips. Middodar moaned around his own hand, around both of their hands, regardless of his attempts to silence himself. 

Corvid pulled himself free and he could hear the distraught sounds, the need, the hatred of being left so empty, in the sigh in Middodar’s throat. Corvid drew himself to his full height though, leaving Middodar to sit where he was, oil staining the furs of their bed. He peppered Middodar’s lips with his own, chaste and small kisses, that trailed from Middodar’s mouth down to that throat, where sounds were not allowed to escape. His kisses turned sharper, marks and bruises decorating his beloved as prideful as a lover’s knot tied behind his ear would be. The man would pretend to hate it, try to hide the marks, but they both knew how Middodar would relish in them, the pride he’d have in someone’s taking note of them, eyes lingering too long, wondering. 

The next kiss was hard and claiming, teeth pressing against Middodar’s soft lower lip, tongue pressing in to run along the roof of his mouth. He could feel Middodar struggle, for a moment, with his own urges of dominance, before he went lax, allowing Corvid entrance, allowing him everything.   
This was supposed to be a smooth and kind thing, gentle and undemanding, something to teach Middodar of the pleasures that he had been denying himself. Suddenly, the urge to control had come over Corvid, to ride the highs of superiority that no one believed he could muster. 

Finding a bit of spiderweb was no difficulty, especially not when they had been travelling through the forests of Malladur, and Corvid’s clean hand brushed through one while he was still entrancing Middodar’s mouth. He pulled Middodar into the position that seemed most apt, on his back, legs spread to reveal that puckered hole, and his wrists together above his head. Corvid barely whispered the words for his spell before the web burned away between his fingers, becoming something else, something more. The sticky lines of silk were almost imperceptible, but the feeling was noticeable immediately, as Middodar’s eyes widened, his gasp leaving his marred throat. The web bound his wrists and held his knees in the right position for Corvid to get the best leverage. He smirked, still standing, finally feeling large before his lover, watching as he squirmed in his new restraints. The web was delicate enough and Middodar could break it easily if he wished, but he did not have to know that and, when he saw the gleam in Corvid’s eye, he stopped, allowing himself to be trapped as Corvid saw fit. He was just a follower in all of this, Corvid was the one with all of the power and knowledge. 

Middodar’s body was a tight coil, wrapped around itself, tension in shoulders and loins. Corvid led him through the paths of his own thoughts with sensual tastes and caresses, sliding up his body to spread his legs, straddle the wiry hairs beneath him. Middodar had done this before, but not in such an angle, yet he did not balk nor falter in the task ahead of him, opening his mouth as he had the space between his legs. He suckled on the appendage given to him, dragging his tongue along the undershaft, swallowing it to the base before pulling away, only to greedily take it all in once more. A gnomish extrusion was not such a difficult task, but he relished in it as if it were a grand privilege, and he soon had Corvid moaning on his own, bucking his hips and sliding himself into that warm heat at a dangerous pace, his completion crawling up into his gut. 

With a groan of both pleasure and sacrifice he pulled away, his purpling cock shining in the dim lantern light of the wagon, saliva lubricating it in a facsimile of the oil still present in Middodar’s body. He gripped the girth of himself tightly to keep his abundance from spilling, and scrambled unceremoniously down his large lover’s form. 

As the fluid dried on his erection, he took Middodar’s own in hand, touching him there for the first time that night. He rolled the thick flesh away from the dribbling slit, licking his lips before repeating the motion, placing one hand on Middodar’s stomach to keep him down, to keep his hips from jolting into the meticulous ministrations. Corvid had been well known for his skills with his quick tongue as a youth, both in the speaking of spells and in the use he gave Middodar, in the darkness of the dormitories. Now his tongue knew only one man and there was no desire within him to change that. He pulled off of Middodar with a slick pop and chuckled, his voice a bit hoarse, as Middodar panted, fighting his own urge for release. 

Finally, too late, their restraints fell, and their coupling began. It was delicate at first, Corvid slipping himself within the tight ring of muscles, entering Middodar’s body, the human gasping and gritting his teeth to keep quiet. Corvid paused, before sliding further, slowly enough not to hurt, his eyes trained on Middodar’s face, watching for signs of discomfort. A slight shift, a different breath, and his features fell into a state of rapture, mouth lax and pupils dilated. Corvid found himself deep inside of the man, as deep as he could go, and still desperate to get deeper. 

Instead he pulled out, exhaling as his shoulders shook, almost extricating himself completely, before sliding in once more, allowing that body to stretch and wrap around him. Middodar was watching him, a plea on his lips, not daring to make it known. Corvid was certain that he knew what it was, although he continued to rock slowly, bringing his sensitive end to Middodar’s stretched hole. He leaned forward, not needing much distance, to kiss and lick at Middodar’s head, the pulsing of it threatening to tumble him over into that abyss. Corvid sucked on it, cheeks hollowing, and Middodar’s back arched, head falling back, his hair a halo around him.   
Corvid released his member, pumping his hips faster, knocking small huffs of air from Middodar’s lungs. He pushed into him, as hard as he could muster, not even hard enough to slide the man against the rugs, to make the springs creak. Middodar’s hands were clenching and releasing, grabbing for something, as he whimpered and hummed, trying to stay quiet, silent, and failing. Corvid rode him faster, harder, going as hard as he could, knowing that he himself was nearing the peak, fear and panic gripping him, as he wondered if Middodar would come along with him off of that great precipice. 

He kissed at that head once more, gripping it firmly in one hand, taking it as deep as he could while still castigating Middodar’s rear. He slid in and out of him and Middodar in and out of himself, trying to keep the two in tandem. He could hardly concentrate as that peak came into view and his hips stuttered, his song losing its rhythm, becoming a jostling cacophony of motion. Middodar’s arms tensed, tugging on the spider silk around his knees, hoisting them further up, spreading himself further, allowing Corvid the imaginary extra inch further inside. 

The spasming of muscle, the rippling tightness that entrenched Corvid, as a sound, not unlike that of pain, came from Middodar, his orgasm tearing through him. His ejaculate hot and thin as it flared upon Corvid’s face, decorating him in white lines, on his cheeks and nose. He was too tight to ignore, to battle, and Corvid fell forward, choking on his own orgasm, pouring his essence into the man before him. 

It was only moments before Corvid pulled out, his erection losing its mass and vigor. He was not a young man, nor was his lover, and stamina was not a thing that came readily. He released Middodar’s legs, kissing the inside of the bad knee as he laid it down, massaging it with warm hands. Releasing Middodar’s wrists was more of a danger, his sex, now meager and disappointing, on clear view as he tore through the web of his own making. No sooner had he emancipated the human’s wrists was he wrapped in a barreling warmth, Middodar pulling him tight against his chest, laughing all on his own, as if there had been something pent up within him. 

His kisses now were less of passion but of comfortable cherishment and that was just as loving, as doting, as fantastic as those caused by carnal endeavors. He tasted himself on Corvid’s lips and laughed all the harder, not releasing the wizard as he reached out for a rag to wipe them both down with. His words, while quiet enough, as quiet as Middodar could force himself to be were of praise and celebration, recollecting his earlier reluctance in the change of position. He kept Corvid close and soon, once they were clean enough and the fur had been tossed aside for use of a less ruddied one, they slept, still holding onto one another. 

In the nights that followed, in the months and the years, Middodar was more willing to lay down the pretenses that his size forced upon him, and relished in the plundering Corvid committed within him. There were times, as there were for many, in which the roles would change and Middodar would take up his expected role once more, but he admitted with honest zeal that he would prefer to take what Corvid had to offer him for the rest of his days.


End file.
